Walls

I want walls. Walls to protect me. Walls to keep me safe.
But there is no wall high enough. No brick thick enough. Walls are not safety.
Guns. I have a gun. When I'm alone, I carry it around the house.
But Guns fire when the trigger is pulled. Who it is aimed at doesn't matter.
Guns carry safety and danger side by side.
Peace. I crave peace. I desire so much to be free of fear.
But fear is the only constant I have.

When I dream at night, I dream of my husband hurting me. Not rape, nothing so extreme,just not stoppingwhen I ask him. Not letting me go. And I hit him. Ipull his hair. I hurt him, to make him stop. And I don't feel it is wrong.

But when I walk in the waking world, and he pulls me close, I pull away, terrified. Desperate. Ready to lash out. Ready to hurt him. Ready to make him stop.
And it does not good.
Still, I feel helpless.
Still, I feel afraid.
And for these feelings, I would hurt willingly the man I love.

Walls. I need them on all sides, to keep him away. To keep him safe. So I don't have to carry my gun. So I don't have to be afraid that I'll shoot him. Or myself.
Walls, I need them to trap me. But I'm already trapped, with walls of terror.